


Touched for the Very First Time

by Silver_Purls



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, POV Baz, Pillow Talk, Undressing, all the feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22994176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Purls/pseuds/Silver_Purls
Summary: Can a kiss say you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? Can it say I’m completely consumed by you, overwhelmed and unbelievably in love? He kisses me back, and I don’t know if there’s meaning behind his lips, if there are words or thoughts lingering somewhere under his molars, but there’s a feeling, there’s something completely honest and alive radiating from him. You’re so alive, I think. Alive and full of fire.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 147





	Touched for the Very First Time

I’m so nervous that my fingertips are trembling. Or maybe they’re trembling in anticipation

I shouldn’t be nervous. I’ve thought about this for years. I’ve wanted it since I knew what it was. And we’ve talked about it. We both want it. We both know that the other one wants it.

Snow is standing in front of me, fully dressed with wide eyes. I wonder if he can tell that I’m trembling? Is he as nervous as I am? Neither of us have said a thing since he shut the door behind him.

I hate when being together feels awkward like this, like the anticipation and expectations have manifested a physical wall between us. Normally I am completely consumed by him, our interactions shifting between tender to the more often heated and starving. Right now, I’m completely aware of every sound around me. I can hear Simon’s breathing, even and much less ragged and shaky than mine. The clicking of the radiators, struggling to heat the tiny bedroom. Simon’s heartbeat, steady and maybe a bit quicker than normal. My own heartbeat, beating quickly at a faint distant rhythm. Outside distant traffic is moving and mumbling pedestrians are carrying on their own harried lives.

Maybe I’m trembling because I’m cold and not because the thought of having sex with the love of my life is so completely terrifying? There are a thousand scenarios running through my head. What if I let myself go too far somehow; do something we haven’t agreed on yet? What if I’m terrible at it, and the experience is dull or miserable for him? What if my fangs pop? (That’s never happened when I’m alone, but I’m completely ignorant to what my physical reactions will be if I’m touched like _that.)_

“You look nervous,” Simon whispers, not moving from where he’s standing. Is it that obvious?

“I’m not,” I lie. Too quickly. He laughs at that, because he knows me. “You do too,” I mumble.

“Kinda am. It’s a lot, innit?” he says it sheepishly and it makes me want to gather him up in my arms. What could he possibly be nervous about? He’s gorgeous, everything my fantasies could never dream to conjure up on their own. “Maybe we should just start with what we’re already good at, and go from there-yeah?” He steps forward and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. I lean forward and graze his lips, featherlight. Kissing Simon is comfortable, familiar, and always so good. I let my eyes shut and lean in to him a bit more, pushing into the kiss just the slightest bit. He pushes back and moves his lips over mine boldly. His breath is hot and minty on my face. He must have brushed his teeth after dinner. The thought of it puts me at ease a little bit. It’s not that Simon’s not hygienic, but he rarely takes care to deal with personal grooming outside of his daily routine. He’s probably spent some time thinking about his and trying to prepare for it in whatever way he could. Of course, I’d take him just as eagerly if he tasted like Lamb Biryani, but this is nice. I let the budding electricity drag me further into his mouth.

Simon’s tongue sneaks out for a brief moment to wet his upper lip and graze where mine are pushed together, returning it behind his teeth as quickly as it came. I let myself chase it, pushing harder into him and letting my lips fall open enough in between longer deeper motions. He takes the opportunity and pushes it back in boldly, finding mine and flitting across the top of it. I can feel my nerves melting into my skin and being replaced with a burning sensation wherever he is touching me. I’m not sure when we got so close, but I’m suddenly acutely aware that he is touching me _everywhere_. His hands have started to wander, one of them pushing through my hair and letting the strands slip through his fingers. The other hand is tracing small circles over the dimples in my lower back and swiping cautiously over the curve of my arse. I lift a bit to encourage his hands. _Yes, please touch me. Everywhere._ All of the blood in my body is starting to rush down, pooling from my stomach and into my cock. He’s thrusting his hips forward against mine and I fight the urge to hide how unbearably hard I am already by pushing my knee forward or backing up like I normally do.

When we got back from America, Simon clung to me like he might disintegrate if he let go. We weren’t intimate, we hardly kissed at all. We fought, bled, and nearly lost the war. In the end, things found a mundane normality that felt familiar-the calm after the storm. The calm that is somehow so much harder than the storm.

There were moments during the war that I was 100% sure that I would die, and moments I thought he was gone forever. There was a point where we were separated for days, and when he finally found me, he hooked his arms around me and said he was selfish, but that he needed me like air and didn’t know how to let me go. It was desperate and miserable, we both cried. In the end, we won the war and things felt about like they did after last Christmas, only with Simon hanging behind me like a child who lost his parents. I guess in a way, he had. Winning is bitter sweet, because you always lose so much in a war. We both lost so much.

I wanted to understand him, why he only came to life between the lines of our every day monologue. I needed to talk, to process, to feel loved. But we lived almost like we had before, except now Simon wanted to know where I was every moment. When he saw me, he held my hands so tightly that if my skin could bruise, it might have permanent marks from where his nails dug under my knuckles. He pulled me beside him on the couch and we didn’t use many words, we just existed in each other’s space. We watched Bake-Off and The IT Crowd and Game of Thrones I wanted more, and being in that space without it hurt more every day, but I stayed. I stayed because what choice could I have? There was never any alternative route for me. Loving Simon was as essential to my half-life as breathing, eating, even drinking. I loved him, and in his own way-he loved me too. The whole time.

It was months before I saw him start to come back to me. He came back in snippets, tiny fractured moments like extra heartbeats in the steady rhythm. He kissed me for the first (recent) time two months after the war. It was a soft and desperate kiss, before I left his flat for the night. A plea for me to stay. Which I did. The next day things were the same. For weeks they were, until one day I came from class with a coffee for both of us and when I came in, he was dressed and cooking pasta for dinner. He had showered, he was wearing jeans. That night we held each other and kissed for hours, fell asleep in each-others arms, and I tried to not let myself get too excited, too eager to see him come back to me.

Progress came, stilted and circular, but still it came. Sometimes he would lose it, go off in these angry randomized explosions. I wouldn’t have the comfortable parts of him for weeks then, he would cave into himself and just hold my fingertips, gripping gently like an anchor to his ship while he dove into the murkiest depths of his own psyche. He didn’t see his therapist anymore, but we formed a group with other trauma victims and we talked about things. Time passed and 

We’ve come close to doing things before in the heat of several moments since then. Sometimes our kisses are like this, fervent and hungry with wandering hands trying to memorize the planes of each other’s bodies. We’ve gotten close, but we’ve always stopped. Sometimes he would be the one to stop, overwhelmed by how things had escalated. The first time he felt me grow hard he was on top of me, pushing me into the sofa with one leg on either side of my hips. I felt the bulge through his thin track bottoms pushing against me and lost the ability to suppress my own reaction. He moved against me almost in a humping motion while burying his tongue in my mouth, then felt it, pulling away suddenly with wide eyes and a few stuttered excuses about how he needed to open the window and let some air in before he overheated. He jerked his body off of mine and walked across the room, humming to himself. When he came back the mood had changed from heated to quiet within seconds. We had spent the rest of that evening scrolling through our phones with his head leaning on my chest.

Another time I had been the one to stop us. We had both shed our shirts and his hands had wandered from my knee to my thigh, tracing small circles with his thumb and index finger. He didn’t shy from the bulge where I was obviously hard this time, and started letting his fingers graze closer and closer to where I was pushing uncomfortably at the leg of my trousers. There had been a part of my mind that wanted nothing more than for him to slide across me, my brain was screaming for it. But if living with the urge to literally eat him for years had done nothing for me, it had lent me the power of self-control. I had dropped my hand on top of his right before it touched the spot that I wanted him to touch so desperately and looked him in the eye. “Are you sure? Should we talk, first?”

He had yanked his hand away (I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a bit like crying when he did that) and smiled weakly at me. “Yeah, of course.”

But we hadn’t talked about it yet. And he hadn’t come close to touching me again for months. I found myself thinking about it all the time but I didn’t want to push him, or make him feel like I wanted anything more than what he was able to give to me. It was just so damn hard to _talk_ to him about it. How do normal people talk about these things?

In the end, it had taken a few too many rounds at the pub, followed by a shared bottle of wine alone in my flat. One thing led to another, and the night resulted in a stream of drunken confessions on both of our parts at 2am. “Baz, do you ever want to have sex with me?” he had slurred.

“Simon, I _always_ want to have sex with you,” I had answered before I could tactfully save myself from seeming too desperate. At my confession, his smile had grown so big that I regretted not being honest with him sooner. And I kept going. “You’re my entire universe. And unbelievably attractive. I think about being with you every day.”

“Me too,” he admitted awkwardly before practically throwing himself on top of me and kissing my neck, running his hands down my hips and gripping my waist. “You’re so fucking hot,” he had crooned.

“Simon,” I had gasped as he ran his fingers across my trousers and exactly where all the blood in my veins wanted him to. “I’d rather not…not while we’re drinking, though.”

He had sighed and taken his hand away, looking me in the eyes. “I mean you’re right. But fuck, I really do want you, soon.”

“If you still want me tomorrow then I promise-I’ll be right here,” I smiled. The rest of that night is a blur. I think we made a frozen pizza around 2am which Simon ate almost entirely. I also think Simon spent an hour on the floor of the toilet letting go of that pizza before the sun came up. When I woke up the next morning, he had crawled into the bed with me again and his breath smelled putrid and I had felt so in love with his miserable lumpy form that I didn’t care one bit. I’m sure mine was rotten as well. We stayed in bed until past noon.

It was probably nearly eleven when one of us finally spoke, him full of sleep and slurring a bit still in the drowsiness of the afternoon. “I was being serious last night,” he had said without turning to face me. We were lying pressed together with his back against my chest. “I’m ready for more…if you are.”

My face had grown hot. “I always want more, Simon,” I whispered in his ear before nipping it gently with my teeth. I was rewarded with a shudder going down his body. It had seemed so simple then, a natural progression.

“But…I want it to be special, you know? Not now while I reek,” he had laughed. “Maybe Friday after Penny leaves for her Mum’s?”

“Are you trying to make a sex appointment with me, Simon Snow?”

“No! I mean, kinda? I don’t know, fuck,” he blustered. I rolled over him and kissed his mouth, puke breath be damned.

Simon has stopped kissing me now and is holding me by the shoulders, staring into my eyes. “What are you thinking about now? You seem a million miles away,” he breaths.

“Just, how long I’ve wanted this,” I admit.

“Talk about pressure,” he laughs. “I hope I live up to your fifth-year fantasies.”

“Crowley, no. No one wants that,” I smirk. “Some thoughts are better left buried.” We’ve walked closer to the bed but we haven’t moved to it. It’s standing there like a great looming beast of expectations, a final destination. The bed. We’ve been on beds before together, but never with an implication hovering over it. The anticipation of _more_.

“You’re lovely,” he says softly. He cups my chin with his palm and runs it down my neck in a gentle motion I didn’t even know he was capable of. I let my eyes fall shut and revel in the touch, in the intimacy of it. I’ll never take a single touch of Simon’s for granted. He keeps moving his hand around my collarbone and throat, slowly dropping down to the exposed skin on my neck and chest, landing on the first button of my shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“You don’t have to ask. Assume the answer is always going to be _yes_ ,” I say hoarsely. He smiles and gently starts to fumble with my button. It’s sweet at first, but he can’t seem to get the second one undone and I have to keep myself from laughing at the awkwardness of it.

“Why are these buttons so bloody hard to undo?” Simon has scrunched up his face into a focused grimace, moving too much of his entire body to unfasten the single button. If he’s not careful (and careful is hardly in his vocabulary) he might end up tearing the fabric. His elbow pops me in the eye and I stifle a grunt.

“They’re mother-of-pearl,” I sigh. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t selected a button up while envisioning this exact moment, the man I love softly undoing the buttons of my shirt slowly and sensually. Of course, I should have known better when I put Snow in that fantasy. He’s a disaster. Still, there’s a tenderness in the fumbling that I wouldn’t trade. “Here, let me,” I say rolling my eyes playfully and placing my fingers over his. I don’t move his away, but I push the small pearly buttons through the fabric of the shirt and then lift his fingers down to the next one, doing the same. He smiles at me, following our motions with his second hand and dragging his fingertips across my newly exposed skin. I shiver and feel goose bumps rising like a pebbled walkway on every inch of skin he touches. When I’ve reached the final button he eagerly takes over, shoving the fabric off my shoulders.

I’m shivering again, maybe with cold and maybe because I feel vulnerable and exposed in the middle of this room and Snow is eyeing me like he’s never seen a man’s chest before. Is he thinking that he’s been wrong this entire time and in fact is not interested in men? Isn’t interested in me? Does he like what he sees? Does it disgust him? My skin is paler than his, grey almost which is especially obvious when such an expanse of it is exposed. My mind has already been to a hundred different conclusions when he wraps his arms around me, moving one hand over my bare back and making small circles on my chest with the other.

“Yours too,” I squeak. Because it feels amazing and because I want to feel his bare skin pushed against mine. His hands are like fire wherever they’re already touching, and it is making the rest of me where he’s _not_ touching me feel cold. He stops for a moment and shrugs off his t-shirt in one movement, much less of a production than when it came to mine. Which is to be expected I suppose. He starts to go back to me when I decide to be a bit bolder, and point towards the polyester drawstring on his track bottoms. It would be so easy to just yank them down. “Trousers too?” I ask. He hesitates, then nods and I reach my hands gently to the band of his trousers and push them down with a deep intake of breath.

He moves towards me then, standing in nothing but his pants. He’s wearing boxer briefs with a cheeseburger print. I stifle a giggle at the absurdity, that I’m about to lose my virginity and it will be with a man who is in (or I guess will have been in) cheeseburger boxer briefs. “Where’s the button to your trousers?” he asks, frowning.

“Oh, it’s a clasp,” I take the clip and push it back, undoing it swiftly and leaving the zipper, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. He smiles and takes the zipper down himself and I can feel the heat radiating from his hands. My cock jumps slightly at his proximity. Crowley, I doubt any of this will last long. We both lift our legs out of our trousers and leave them in a heap on the floor (which I do my best to ignore. Neatly folding them would surely ruin whatever mood we’ve got going on here.) Simon looks at the bed apprehensively, then he looks at me with a question lingering in the air between us. _What do we do now?_ I take a deep breath and gently push on his chest. Not enough to actually make him move at all, but he follows my motions and falls on the bed so I can climb on top of him, covering his body with mine and soaking up the warmth of his skin. Our legs are tangled and I can feel his cock pushing against the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. I push my face down and kiss him, long and deep. I kiss him with everything I have. Can a kiss say _you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?_ Can it say _I’m completely consumed by you, overwhelmed and unbelievably in love?_ He kisses me back, and I don’t know if there’s meaning behind his lips, if there are words or thoughts lingering somewhere under his molars, but there’s a feeling, there’s something completely honest and alive radiating from him. _You’re so alive_ , I think. _Alive and full of fire._

Simon flips us so I’m under him and carefully lowers his hips over mine until we are pushed against each other. He’s hard in his boxer briefs, those ridiculous cheeseburger prints are stretched and there’s a wet spot near the top left where I can see the outline of his cock pushing. I know I’m hard too, and I can’t stifle a gasp when moves his hips, brushing the part of me that is aching with his warm bulge. I can’t help myself and I reach a hand towards his legs, gently stroking his length through the thin fabric. I feel his cock jump and I linger on the damp spot, dragging my finger slightly through it then rubbing down. “You can take them off,” he whispers.

So, this is it, then? I’m finally going to see Simon Snow’s cock. The anticipation rushes through my blood and I swallow, trying not to show how eager I am. How fucking nervous I am. I hook my fingers in the band of his pants and push them down, pausing when I reach his arse and letting my hand graze the soft skin there. He’s holding himself over me like he’s doing a push up, so when I finally get the pants to his thighs his cock pops out and hovers between us, flushed and dripping. It’s the first time I’ve ever been this close to another man’s cock and I send a silent prayer of thanks to whoever is listening that seeing it is as exciting and arousing as I always imagined it would be. It’s not that different in length than mine, but it is a bit thicker. I drag my gaze from his crotch and back to his face which has the most adorable nervous half smile, like he’s waiting on validation from me. I abandon the pants somewhere between his thighs and knees and move to firmly grip his cock in my hand, smooth velvety skin moving under my fingers. He’s clumsily trying to use his foot to peel the pants completely off while drawing in sharp breaths at my touch. _This is what I’ve been dreaming about,_ I think. And it’s _everything_. He’s dripping so much precome that when I drag my fingers across the slit it’s enough to dampen my strokes.

“Baz,” he says hoarsely. “Fuck. Yet. I. can’t-don’t want to yet-” His words are punctuated with each flick of my wrist so I slow it down, still touching him but with less fervor and rhythm. I let my fingers wander the rest of him that I’ve been dreaming about with my left hand, still holding onto his cock with my right. The place where his leg dips to meet his crotch, the soft thatch of gold tinged brown hair there, and the _moles_. I’ve dreamt that the parts of his body that I had never seen were covered in as many moles as the rest of him, but the freckles in his inner thighs and covering his arse are so incredibly endearing that I’m suddenly consumed with the idea of kissing each of them in turn. He shifts and I notice he has a small freckle right between his bollocks and his hole. _Maybe later_.

He holds himself up with one arm and reaches the other one to the band of my pants, tugging on them in a silent ask. I’m more than ready to be on equal ground at this point, and I lift my arse up so he can pull them down and let my own cock free. His eyes grow wide at the sight of it, and it reminds me of how he was looking at my chest earlier. Surprised? Confused? Disappointed? “Baz,” he says my name again and I can’t handle how it feels to hear my name from Simon Snow while he stares at my cock lying on my bare stomach. “Can I kiss you there?”

I nod quickly, and he drops down to his knees, cock and thighs moving from my reach unfortunately, and starts to pepper wet kisses on my chest. He moves deliberately, devouring the skin with small blunt bites and wet kisses. It’s not slow, but it feels like he’s miles away from me. He’s lighting little sparks on each patch of skin with his lips, leaving them cold and wanting when he moves further down. He reaches my hips and moves to kiss each hip bone individually, stroking my legs with his hands, and finally moving to my inner thigh. I think I could come just from the image I’m watching, his nest of curls sweeping lower down my belly and moving between my thighs until he’s finally facing my cock.

Simon takes a deep breath and takes my cock firmly in his hand. If he was hesitating before, he’s certainly not now. His grasp is warm and I stifle a small moan from the satisfaction of him finally _touching me_. He places his lips gently on the head, steadying it with his hand. It’s a small and muted kiss, but it’s followed by a bigger open mouth one. Each kiss is more, tongue flicking and lips opening a bit more until he’s taken the head of my cock into his mouth completely. My breath is absolutely wrecked. He’s hardly moving on me but the combination of knowing what he’s doing and actually seeing his lips covering me…it’s all so much.

He wraps his lips further down and starts to move his mouth down until about half of my cock is filling his mouth. I didn’t know it could be this warm, and I think I’m grunting or making some other embarrassing sound, but Simon Snow’s lips are wrapped around my cock and I can’t think of anything else so I let my voice act on its own accord. He slides up and down carefully, letting saliva drop down my shaft and rolling his tongue along the underside. After a few excruciating moments of this, he pops off and gives a long lick across the length of me, from bottom to head before looking up to meet my eyes. “Is this okay?” he whispers. His voice sounds soft and far away, and I fold myself so I can run a hand through his curls.

“Crowley, yes,” I gasp. His lip curls up, and he goes back to stroking me with his hand. The motion is slick with his saliva and my precome. It feels like every other part of my body has stopped existing and everything is concentrated on my cock, like his touch there is the only thing I can possibly feel right now. I think something could stake me and I wouldn’t notice until I was already dead (well, more dead.)

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he bites his lip, “but I like how you taste. What should I do? What feels good?”

“Fuck, Simon. All of it. You touching me,” I don’t know how I haven’t finished already, and a flashing image of his lips dripping with my cum simultaneously horrifies me and goes straight to my cock.

“Yeah, but how? Do you like it fast? My hands, my mouth? Tell me what to do.” He’s still stroking me but his motions are disjointed. And as much as my body just wants him to keep doing what he’s doing, I need to touch _him too._

“Come up here and kiss me again for a few minutes,” I say. Simon doesn’t hesitate and moves back up, biting at my lip and shoving his tongue down my throat. I arch up into him and feel our cocks brush together. He must feel it too, because he grinds into me, the friction of us moving together is delicious and _not enough_.

I want to do for him what he did for me, but I’m a bit afraid about getting that close to all that blood with my fangs, so I decide to hold off. It is the first time after all, hopefully there will be plenty of time to explore later (won’t there be?) I break our kiss to reach into the nightstand to grab a small container of lube. I squeeze a few drops on my hand and return it to his cock. This time it’s much easier to move, I pump it steadily and he lets out a stilted grunt.

“Here, roll over,” I say. Simon complies quickly until we are facing each other with our foreheads pressed together. I’m moving down the length of his cock in steady rhythmic motions. His breathing is getting heavier, peppered with small grunts and cries that I want to lock away in my memory forever. His hand was on me at some point, but I think it’s getting to be too much and he’s both of them around my neck, those short nails are digging into my shoulders while he pants.

“Baz,” he whimpers. “Baz, fuck, Baz…” he’s saying my name like a mantra. A spell. A heartbeat. It’s filling up this wild side of me that just wants to see him lose all control, come completely undone. I pool all my focus into controlling my movements, keeping the rhythm steady and He shoves his head harder against mine and shuts his eyes, panting with a gorgeous shade of red covering his cheeks and a shimmering sweat beading under his ears. “I’m going to…fuck!” I deepen my strokes and move my other hand to grasp his arse, pushing against him as he grunts and shudders. We’re moving together, rocking with our bodies pressed as close as possible while still leaving room for the movement. He’s not even touching me but I’m letting out heavy breaths in time with his as I move him faster.

The moment before he comes, his eyes open for a moment before rolling back and shutting again. His back stiffens and jolts, and his cock spills over my hand and against the sheets. He makes this gorgeous feral sound between breaths while the hot liquid covers my knuckles. I slow my motions and stroke him through it, until the feral sounds turn to steady satisfied moans.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers softly. “I meant to hold on for you..”

“Why are you saying sorry, you beautiful nightmare?” I lean my head over and kiss his forehead, then each of his cheeks. I run the hand that’s not covered in his cum through his curls, then I kiss those too. “You were amazing, you gorgeous fuck.”

“I meant to-we could have at the same time, or-” his hand is shaking and his breathing is still heavy.

“Simon, I got exactly what I wanted,” I say with a smirk. “Relax for a few minutes, we have time.” He nods and drops down completely, nuzzling into my side and letting his eyes flutter closed.

“Just give me-just a minute…then,” he huffs. “Crowley, that was…” his voice drifts off and I let myself drop too, wiping my hand on the sheet (which sends a disgusted shiver down my spine but is only okay because I plan on spelling the mess after I catch my breath). He reaches a trembling hand towards my face and caresses it softly before letting it drop and making the sweetest satisfied sigh.

I’m still half hard, but in this moment, I don’t want anything but to watch him like this. He’s so lovely with his hair pasted against his forehead in sweaty tendrils and his cheeks flushed from exertion. The smell of his sex is permeating the air and I think about licking what’s left of him on my fingertips just so I can taste him. (that would be weird at this point, right?)

“So, does this mean I’m not a virgin anymore?” he says after about ten minutes of silence. I’m fairly certain we both drifted into some sort of sleep, although my mind was still as active as ever. My throat is heavy with exhaustion and endorphins.

“Virginity is a social construct, Snow,” I sneer lightly.

“What does that even mean? I mean, we didn’t go all the way, so does that mean I’m like half?” He scratches his head and I can’t help but smile at the sight of him, fresh fucked and covered in sweat contemplating the state of his potential virginity.

“Do you feel like a virgin?” I ask. 

“Touched for the very first time,” he sings in a Madonna voice. I push him lightly and he giggles. “I mean, not really? But there’s still a lot more I want to do. Plus, I didn’t even make you come, so we’re going to have to start over.”

I’m grinning despite myself. “That can be arranged,” I smirk.

“I might be able to pencil you in, though I’ve got a lot going on this week…” he scratches his head and I take the pillow and smack him with it. “Abuse!” he calls out, his voice muffled by the pillow. He pushes it from his face and looks at me seriously. “Was this your plot all along then? Seduce me so I’m vulnerable, so you can finally make your move?”

“You can count on me making a move, you nightmare.” I swing over and pin him down playfully, then lick the side of his face. He gasps and wrestles my arms behind my back, pinning me under him instead. I let him. The sunset streaming in through the window is casting a glow on his curls and I think for a moment that he might actually be some sort of celestial being.

“Now. About that appointment…”


End file.
